D is for Dreaming
by Jul3s
Summary: Margaret pays Don a visit


**D Is For Dreaming**  
by Jules

The gritty asphalt bit into his cheek and for an excruciatingly long moment, Don Eppes had difficulties to pinpoint the actual reason why he was laying face down on a dirty street with a close-up of a rusty Ford rim filling more than half of his field of vision. But his brain, which had become unnaturally sluggish, finally caught on and let splinters of details float to the surface. The projectile hitting the street only a few feet away, sending pebbles flying in all directions, finally pushed him fully back into the picture.

The Romano case. The drug bust. They'd moved in, him leading, David covering him from behind, Colby and Megan from the left. He'd weaved in and out between the cars, searching for a strategically good position to cover David for his move when suddenly... something, he wasn't at all sure what, had happened. He tried to shake his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs that somehow had taken residence there, but his muscles weren't quite cooperating the way they were supposed to and...

_Get a grip, Eppes._

Somewhere up and beyond him, there was more shooting and he pulled one arm closer and under him, trying to gain some leverage, preparing to move. Something was wrong though, nothing was working and then, the first flash of pain hit his back, spiraling out into his chest and down his side and... maybe gritty asphalt wasn't so bad for the moment after all.

Don forced himself to breathe calmly which, given the fact that breathing at all seemed like an almost unmanageable feat right now, proved harder than he'd thought. Okay, so he'd been hit, that much seemed certain. He closed his eyes, trying to focus inside and determine if the vest had caught it or not, but with his eyes closed, everything only seemed to slowly, dizzily spin away from him and he blinked them open again, waiting for the nausea that threatened to dissipate.

"Don?"

That was Colby, still somewhere behind and to the left of him and in lack of enough breath to vocalize anything, Don rose his left hand a fraction off the ground, fingers splayed, to signalize that he'd heard.

"You hit?"

_Oh, yeah..._

Ignoring the new pang of pain shooting down his back and forcing his chest to expand past that iron vise that seemed to tighten further the more time passed, Don managed to turn his head to the other side, pressing the right side of his face into his forearm as the pain spiked to a new unexpected level and he suddenly, almost as an afterthought, realized that the pain ended somewhere at his waistline, along with any other feeling and that definitely couldn't be good.

He pressed his eyes closed once and blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision and make sense of the various differently colored blobs he could make out. There was more gunfire, projectiles hitting the other side of the car, raining down behind him and he had the distant feeling he should move out of the line of fire, but the blobs were moving and there were urgent but tinny voices somewhere near his left ear that matched the urgent voices around him and more shooting and the sickly sweet taste of copper creeping into his mouth and everything phased out for a moment.

He was swimming in twilight, somewhere between reality and whatever waited on the other side and fragments of thoughts floated by, thoughts like if this was The One, the one incident he wouldn't come out of unscathed or even alive and if he'd taken care of his affairs the way he should have and that the twilight was actually nice, because there was no pain and even breathing was possible and then, there was a hand high on his back and he crashed back with a flinch.

"Don't..." he rasped, losing air and coordination after just one measly syllable, but the hand moved up, squeezing his neck reassuringly.

"Easy, we've got you."

Hands on his back, tugging at his vest, fingers curling around his and more fingers digging in, pressing to stop the bleeding and a small part of him realized that they knew how to handle the situation, that they were in charge and knew better to move him more than absolutely necessary, that maybe he could float away again because it was okay...

"Don?"

He blinked, but the haze didn't clear and he couldn't breathe and dark spots swam in to mix with the haze. He blinked again and fought against the iron band around his chest and managed a weak cough, tasted more blood and an impossibly warm hand cupped his forehead and his vision cleared, revealing Colby's face only inches from his.

"Don? Ambulance is two minutes out. Just keep breathing, okay?"

He moved his fingers and felt the soft pressure returned strongly. "Okay? Don? Come on, stay with us."

Two minutes. Keep breathing. He could do that, right? But everything seemed to slow further and he suddenly felt so tired and just a little bit cold, but comfortably warm at the same time.

I'm sorry, he thought as everything started to dim. I'm sorry, I can't.

--00--

The sun was warm on his face when he opened his eyes again and he was a little disoriented at first about his whereabouts. Then he looked to his right and recognized the white and red building and only felt a little more confused than before.

_The hospital garden? You sure have to improve on your dream material, buddy._

"Didn't I tell you to be careful?" He nearly jumped at the voice coming from his left, instantly recognizing it and didn't dare to turn around.

"I was," he whispered.

"Yeah, I can see that." The figure sank down beside him onto the bench and Don shivered slightly, feeling her presence all over his skin like little electrical spikes. He finally turned around and looked at her, feeling the familiar clench in his chest.

"So, this is it, huh?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No, Don. Not yet."

He nodded. "Then what am I doing here?" He rubbed the side of his face and looked down, away. "What are you doing here?"

She was still smiling, he could hear it in her voice. "Paying you a visit."

"Right," he snorted, hating himself for it. He didn't want to go where this was heading, didn't want to open up that particular box of emotions he'd hid away so well.

"Your brother and your father ask for me all the time."

He looked up. "They do?" It surprised him, in a way. She nodded.

"And you come by, just like that?" It couldn't possibly be that easy, could it?

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?"

And she was, wherever and whatever 'here' was. He looked at her, reveling in the fact that she seemed whole and healthy and just like he wanted to remember her. Not the frail form he'd watched fading away over too long weeks.

She nodded towards the building. "They're both upstairs, worrying sick about you. They're all there, your friends, your coworkers. A great bunch of people."

"Yeah."

"You will need them when you go back."

"How... how bad?" He wasn't even sure if he wanted to know.

Her smile faltered. "Bad. But not hopeless. That's why you have to go back now."

"So I just should've asked?"

"You certainly didn't have to get yourself almost killed."

And another smile spread over her face, reaching her eyes and he mirrored it, recognizing it from so many times when he was growing up, whenever he was trying to get his way and she just seemed surprised over and over again about how pigheaded he could be. Fond, caring. Loving.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?"

"Being angry."

"Anger is important. It's part of the grieving."

"Yeah, but..." he broke off, rubbing his hands over his face and stared straight ahead.

"You were angry at me for leaving, I can understand that. I was angry I had to leave, too. But you also have to let go. All the anger in the world is not going to change anything."

He propped his head onto his clasped hands. "I know."

"Charlie and you are doing good. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah."

"You're strong. But you don't have to carry it all alone."

He ran his fingers over his eyes, feeling a suspicious wetness clinging to his lashes. "Will you be back?"

"I'm always here, Don."

"I just have to ask, right." He chuckled wetly and turned his face back to her.

A light finger touched his cheek, wiping away more wetness and she leaned in further. "I can't promise you I'll always come. But I can promise you I'll always be here." Her hand touched his chest, right over his heart and he understood and it hurt and felt good at the same time.

He swallowed. "Thank you."

"You have to go back now, sweetie."

"Yeah." He sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders, trying to marshal all his strength for the fight ahead. His legs felt tingly, as if he'd been sitting in the wrong position too long and there was an odd but very persisting pressure starting to build in his back.

"Mom?" he whispered, looking to his left again. His mother smiled at him, a sudden sadness in her eyes and he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss onto her cheek, his arms coming around to close over her shoulders. "I miss you."

And while everything dimmed and darkened, he felt her arms holding him tight, felt her curls tickling his cheek and heard her soft words reaching deep down into him, lending more strength.

"I miss you too."

--00--

"Don't you think you're overdoing it a little?"

"Yeah?" Don gasped and moved another step forward. "Why?"

Charlie sighed audible, a sound Don had actually already become used to over the past 6 weeks. Charlie sighed all the time, whenever he thought Don was rushing his progress, but then, Charlie was around a lot more than the others to worry that he might rush his progress. It could have been annoying, but Don found it rather nice. Not that he'd ever say so.

He reached the end of the parallel bars and turned around to struggle back, ignoring the twinges in his back and shoulders. This was hard work, but it helped. His body hated him for pushing, but he wouldn't be this far already if he didn't push. And every step brought him closer to get out of here. Close to four weeks in the hospital, now on his second week here in rehab. When he'd woken up he couldn't even turn around on his own and now he was, okay, shuffling. He was getting there.

The twinge in his right shoulder slowly reached critical mass and he dragged himself the last steps, waiting for Charlie to turn around the wheelchair and secure the brakes, then dropped into it with less grace than he'd planned. Instantly, both his shoulder and thigh cramped up and he groaned, gripping at the armrest with his other hand.

"Don? Are you... should I...?"

He reached blindly for Charlie's sleeve as he tried to turn away, snatching it. "No, I'm...," he had to breathe deeply, "I just..."

"Overdid it?" Charlie finished for him and sighed again, causing Don to chuckle. He pulled his feet onto the footrests one after another, suppressing another groan. Charlie stayed back, watching him, then sank down onto one of the benches, raking his fingers through his curls.

"Charlie?"

"Sorry," he looked up and smiled almost ruefully, "it's just..."

Don reached out to release the brakes and rolled himself over, his arm muscles protesting slightly. "I'm okay, Charlie."

"Yeah."

They shared a look and Don understood all that Charlie couldn't or didn't want to voice. Maybe, at some point. But not yet. And maybe never.

"I had a dream," Don said suddenly.

"Yeah?" Charlie stood up and got behind the chair, starting to push towards the exit of the gym.

"Yeah, when I... you know?" he gesticulated with his hand.

"Died?"

"Flatlined."

"Semantics."

Don winced, but only because Charlie couldn't see him. They'd had that sort of exchange a couple of times already. He'd flatlined during surgery and the doctors had a hard time bringing him back. A fact he wished his family hadn't been told. Not that he'd been in any condition to stop it from happening, but now, after having come through that particular ordeal, it felt like that knowledge was the only reason why Charlie hung around so much and why everyone treated him like he could break any moment.

He had a different take on his own mortality than the rest of his family, Don knew that. But Charlie seemed to have breezed through this crisis with a lot more ease than he'd have thought, at least outwardly. His constant correction that flatlining and dying were essentially the same, sometimes accompanied by a lengthy scientific explanation, was starting to scare him though. They'd have to talk about that sooner or later, before it became an obsession.

"It was about Mom," he said quietly.

Charlie stopped moving and the automatic door of the gym fell shut behind them. Don reached down and propelled himself forward a couple of feet, gripping one wheel to perform a slow turn, facing his brother who still stood rooted on his spot.

"You dreamt about Mom?" Charlie asked, one eyebrow raised in surprise.

"Yup."

"Wow. I would've thought baseball."

Don chuckled. "What, Don Eppes at the bat, hitting his one hundredth home run, winning the World Series, that sort of thing?"

Charlie's returning smile was faint. "Yeah, something like that." He stepped behind the wheelchair again, pushing it slowly down the paved path.

Don wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to tell Charlie about the dream, or whatever it had been because it had felt so real, but it suddenly seemed so... intimate. Maybe another time. Maybe never. He didn't even know anymore why he started talking about it at all.

"I miss her," he whispered at last.

Charlie stopped again, halfway between the gym and the main building and Don could feel the wave of longing that seemed to wash over him from behind. "Yeah, me too," Charlie finally answered and they stayed silent and motionless for another long moment.

The silence, as companionable as it was, became too thick. "Wanna stay and watch the game?"

Charlie seemed to perk up immediately. "Yeah, I'd love to."

"Yeah?"

"Just promise me one thing, bro."

"What?"

"Try staying awake a bit longer this time, okay? You snore."

Don laughed deeply, ignoring the pain it caused. "Man, there's no love in this world, huh?" He leaned his head back until it touched Charlie's chest, smiled at the small nudge he received from behind.

He didn't have to see Charlie's face to see the grin. "No, Lazarus, there isn't."

They bantered all the way into the building.

-The End-


End file.
